


regret, regret

by raikkonen (armario)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/raikkonen
Summary: "i was also gonna write a fic where Daniels like oh fantastic I don't have to juggle both of them, we can just have a threesome. And Max pretends to go along with it but instead he jsut rails Charles reeeaally violently into the mattress while ignoring Daniel the entire time lmaoooo"-Me, 9:31pm (4 hours ago)
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	regret, regret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mondaycore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondaycore/gifts).



> did i put a quote from la casa de bernarda alba in here? you betcha!
> 
> shout out to malter for recommending me the song which i settled on for the title, which is regret by everything everything. 
> 
> shout out to iven for hyping me up to write this.
> 
> this is fic but it's also a callout for the entire fandom shifting away from maxiel and into the sharlshipping epidemic. i'm disgusted with all of you.
> 
> i would like to offer this to monday as a uhhh como se dice way to make friends. we haven't talked much but i admire u so much and i would like to get to know you better. i really hope you enjoy <3

All of this is wrong.

Charles' eyes are screwed shut, and of course, it's easy for _him._ He was far too quick to agree to Max's reluctant proposal- faster than he'd agreed to Daniel's. That kind of fawning awe looked out of place on features that were most often arrogant and cold. 

Max doesn't let himself look away, fingers of one hand knotted tight in Charles' hair, pulling his head back at a painfully awkward angle- the other steadying himself with a bruising grip on Charles' hip, as he pounds into him hard enough that he'll have difficulty walking, or so he viciously prays.

He needs Daniel to believe that this is what he wants, and as he hears the door slam shut, he knows he succeeded. 

"He left," Max rasps, emotionless, despite the desperate sadness that chokes him. He makes to pull out, but Charles stops him by scrabbling to catch him in a grip like claws.

"Finish," is all he says.

Max supposes it's the least he can do; give the whore his fill after he'd been so kind, so self-sacrificial, to go along with such a cruel and manipulative plan. It takes everything he has, every fantasy in the book, before he's coming in the disappointing restrictiveness of the condom, a barrier between Charles' heat and his cock. A barrier he's grateful for. Charles is fucking dirty, and Max hopes Daniel had the foresight to prepare for it. 

His mind is going round in circles. _How could you be so cruel,_ followed by, _it had to be done._ He wasn't going to lower himself to the level of competing with Charles. Firstly, because he hated him. And secondly, because he knew he couldn't. Not pretty enough, not giving enough, not _broken_ enough.

It can be difficult to argue with Charles' firm belief that they're meant to be when it's so hard to tell where he ends, and Max begins. Daniel had no idea what he was doing in trying to bring them together, like fluorine to hydrogen. Out of bitterness, Max showed him what could come of this particular mixture.

He wishes he'd had the courage to say something, before Charles ever became a threat. He wishes he'd stopped them from attempting so much as conversation, while Max waited for the perfect moment that never came. What he'd been forced to endure watching had burned a hole in his chest with acidic jealousy. And what made it so much worse was that Charles didn't appreciate the gift he'd been given- he was here to get Max's attention, nothing more, with no care for the hearts he'd break in the process.

Unceremoniously, Max lets his softening cock slip out of Charles' ass, whose hole clenches on empty air. He's fascinated to watch all the fervent energy filter out of him as he deflates and lays his whole weight on the bed. It's telling, the things that make Charles feel alive. Brushes with death. The addictive exploration of how close two people can be, physical or emotional.

"I know you think you're in love with me," Max says tiredly, after he's thrown the condom away and wiped his dick. "You're not."

Charles doesn't move from where he's sprawled out face down on the bed, so still it seems like he might not even be breathing. 

"Listen to me," Max demands, sitting beside him and gripping the back of his neck in warning. He's too tense for the luxury of bashfulness over his state of undress. Charles rolls onto his side to look Max in the eye, anger so clear on his face that it sends an instinctive shiver down Max's spine. 

"I'm begging you not to mess around with him any more," he grits out.

Charles tilts his head, smoothing his expression into a mask of indifference and a careless, casual, "Fine."

Max bristles at the poisonous condescension lacing the word. "I mean it. I know you know how I feel about Daniel, and I know you couldn't give less of a fuck about him. I don't care what you want with me, but you have to leave him out of it."

"I don't have to do anything," Charles whispers. He can't help the way the corners of his lips quirk into a soft smile, and the picture he makes is angelic. He has the desires of a _demon._

Max physically recoils. "Fuck you," he snaps, balling his fists. "You went along with this. You promised."

"What about your side of the bargain?" Charles asks, a deadly, hushed quality to his tone.

"There was no 'my side of the bargain'. You agreed-"

"Yes, there was, Max," Charles hisses. Sudden rage glints in his eyes, and the muscles in his face jump with the effort to contain it. "Yes, there was."

Max swallows, caught up in Charles' anger. Looking into his eyes is like slowly drinking his blood. 

Maybe he was stupid to think he could use Charles like this. He'd thought he could handle it. Daniel was easily moved by a tragic backstory, and his ability to sense those who'd be receptive to his unique brand of comfort was uncanny. Wasn't that why Max had fallen for him in the first place?

But he'd always believed that unlike everyone else, he could see through Charles. He knew him; still caught up in the twisted, possessive mindset that they were connected. He'd been played in the same way as Daniel, as countless others. The difference is that Charles never claimed to be in love with any of _them._

That doesn't offer him any comfort; it only makes fear settle heavy in the marrow of his bones. Charles is the price he has to pay for a mere _chance_ with Daniel. He wonders if this was a mistake, with the way regret bounces in echoes off these walls. His sweat dries coolly with finality on his skin, and he feels strangely light, as though he's lost the weight of his soul. 


End file.
